


Choose Well

by uniquepov



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ritual Sex, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-05 06:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniquepov/pseuds/uniquepov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco learns that life is a series of choices. He hasn’t always made the right one.</p><p>Written as a pinchhit for <span class="ljuser ljuser-name_hpvalensmut"><a href="http://hpvalensmut.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://hpvalensmut.livejournal.com/"><b>hpvalensmut</b></a></span> for my dear <span class="ljuser ljuser-name_rzzmg"><a href="http://rzzmg.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://rzzmg.livejournal.com/"><b>rzzmg</b></a></span>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choose Well

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RZZMG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RZZMG/gifts).



> Dear [](http://rzzmg.livejournal.com/profile)[**rzzmg**](http://rzzmg.livejournal.com/) , you asked for (among other things) angst, drama, romance, war time comfort, war time switching sides, Death Eater revels, lust potions/spells, drinking alcohol, voyeurism/exhibitionism with an NC-17 sex scene and a believable plot, with the optional prompts of white roses and the phrase “You bastard! How could you do this to me?” It was a tall order, but I hope I’ve created something you’ll enjoy! The title is from Tori Amos’ Me and a Gun. Eternal thanks, love and devotion to [](http://khasael.livejournal.com/profile)[**khasael**](http://khasael.livejournal.com/) and [](http://curiouslyfic.livejournal.com/profile)[**curiouslyfic**](http://curiouslyfic.livejournal.com/) for their beta skills and proofreading, and to [](http://deirdre-aithne.livejournal.com/profile)[**deirdre_aithne**](http://deirdre-aithne.livejournal.com/) for her overall hand-holding.  <4\. As always, love and respect to the modly mods, [](http://khasael.livejournal.com/profile)[**khasael**](http://khasael.livejournal.com/) and [](http://luvscharlie.livejournal.com/profile)[**luvscharlie**](http://luvscharlie.livejournal.com/) for all their unsung efforts.
> 
>  **Disclaimers:** This is a work of fanfiction. I don’t own them and make no profit from them, so please don’t sue. I’m just enjoying JKR’s playground for a bit. Also; snippets of dialogue at the very end taken from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ , chapter 23 (British Edition).  
> 

_Saturday, 6 December 1997_

“ _Fuck_ , Draco, _yeah_. Like that,” Theo panted, as Draco nipped and sucked at a spot on his neck.

Draco grinned, palming the other boy’s erection through his trousers and robes, even as he ground his own erection against Theo’s hip.

They rubbed frantically against each other as their lips met in a deep kiss, tongues tangling as they both fought for dominance. Theo won, backing Draco against the wall and pressing tightly against him.

“Theo, please…” Draco’s plea ended in a soft moan as Theo bit down lightly, teeth closing over the sensitive junction of neck and shoulder.

“Please _what_?” Theo murmured against his neck.

“Want you.”

“I want you, too. But you know we can’t.” Theo pulled back with obvious reluctance. “We can’t.”

“I know,” Draco whispered, reaching out to catch Theo’s hand as the other boy turned to go. “But it doesn’t stop me wanting.”

“Nor me,” Theo replied, squeezing Draco’s hand briefly before breaking away entirely.

Draco dropped his head back against the cool stone wall and closed his eyes with a heavy sigh.

 

_Saturday, 27 December 1997_

The day after Boxing Day, Draco stayed in his room, trying hard to forget the fact that Luna Lovegood and Mr Ollivander were currently unwilling residents of the Malfoy dungeons. He couldn’t even pretend to himself that he could forget the fact that the Manor was overrun with Death Eaters. He flipped idly through his schoolbooks, unable to concentrate. Finally, he sat up, tossing his book aside. Perhaps taking his broom for a spin around the gardens and the wood beyond would calm his nerves.

He threw on a heavy wool cloak and moved quietly through the halls, hoping to make his escape through the large French doors facing the veranda and gardens without running into any of the Manor’s other occupants.

“Draco.”

Lucius’ voice stopped him cold. Draco took a measured breath, squaring his shoulders as he turned towards the older man.

“Father,” Draco returned.

“We haven’t seen much of you, this holiday,” Lucius said. “Are you quite well?”

“Just busy with school work, Father,” Draco said. “I’m headed out for a bit of exercise just now, though.”

“It can wait. I have things to discuss with you.”

Draco nodded, following as his father led the way through the halls and down into his private study. Lucius gestured towards one of the leather chairs flanking the fireplace. Draco laid his cloak over the back of the chair carefully and sat.

Lucius rifled through the papers on his desk for a moment, then poured himself a measure of Cognac and sat opposite Draco, swirling the goblet in his hand.

“How is your schooling progressing? I trust that Hogwarts is more palatable, at least, with Severus and the Carrows at the helm.”

Draco shrugged inelegantly. “I suppose.”

“Sports? Wizard chess?”

Draco nodded.

“Romances?”

Draco stilled, his response a half-second too late. “Nothing of note.”

“Don’t lie to me, boy,” Lucius snapped, straightening in his seat. “Speak.”

“It’s nothing.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow, nostrils flaring as he stared at Draco.

“Theo Nott,” Draco capitulated, his voice small.

Lucius relaxed visibly. “A pure-blood. Thank Merlin.”

Draco drew himself up. “Of _course_ he is,” he said haughtily.

Lucius smiled indulgently. “I only meant that he knows the rules we live by,” he said.

Draco’s face coloured. “He does.”

“See that _you_ remember them,” Lucius said sternly.

“As if you would _allow_ me to forget.” Draco stood, pulling his cloak from the back of the chair. “May I go?”

Lucius nodded, and Draco spun on his heel and stalked from the study. Forgoing his broom, he walked out towards the garden. It had snowed in the night, and the Manor grounds looked like they were frosted in faerie dust. Draco decided that he didn’t want to mar the landscape by leaving footprints in the snow, opting instead to take a turn around the veranda that extended along the back of the house. As he passed the windows of the study, he saw his father speaking with the Dark Lord. Both looked very pleased about something, and Draco suppressed a slight shudder. His father might be a fervent supporter of Lord Voldemort, but Draco thought that the wizard, though powerful, might have been slightly unhinged by the years between his downfall and his resurrection by Wormtail.

 

_Friday, 16 January 1998_

Draco was packing his trunk to return to Hogwarts when his mother knocked on the door to his rooms.

“Draco, darling? Are you in there?”

“Come in, Mother,” he called, not turning from his packing until he heard her enter. “Is everything all right?”

Narcissa nodded, but she looked worried. “Yes, dear. Everything’s fine. Your father wants to see you.”

“Sending you to do a house-elf’s work?” Draco asked archly. Narcissa gave him a disdainful look, and Draco gave a wry chuckle. “Yes, Mother. Of course. When Lord Malfoy bellows, we must all jump to do his bidding.”

Narcissa wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Please. Don’t call him ‘ _Lord_ Malfoy’ in his hearing. Lucius puts on enough airs as it is. We don’t want him deciding to fashion himself as another Dark Lord.”

Draco snorted. “You may have a point, there.” He cast another glance at his trunk. “All right. I’ll go now.”

“He’s in his study. The Dark Lord is with him.”

Draco nodded his understanding and headed downstairs towards his father’s study.

He raised his hand to knock on the closed door, but paused, his fist hovering mid-air, as voices curled around him from inside the room.

“You are certain, Lucius?”

“Of course, my Lord. My son knows his duty.”

“He had better. The ritual requires him to be truly pure.”

“My Lord. We will not fail you.”

Draco reeled backwards as though struck. At that moment, the door to the study opened to reveal Voldemort himself. Draco recovered his senses and forced his spine into a bow. “My Lord,” he murmured as the other wizard swept past. Straightening, Draco turned into the study. “Father? You sent for me?”

“Ah, Draco. We have things to discuss. Please shut the door.”

 

_Tuesday, 20 January 1998_

Draco sat on his bed, propped up against the headboard with the curtains pulled tightly. He stared blankly at the draped fabric as his fingertips traced along the intricate embroidered patterns on his duvet. He’d been back at Hogwarts for two days, but had yet to attend classes, pleading illness. His mind was still reeling from the conversation he’d had with his father.

Pure-blood witches and wizards were supposed to maintain their innocence until they were properly bonded. The magical energies released when one lost one’s virginity strengthened and sealed the marriage bond. It was old fashioned, perhaps, but the oldest families still clung to the tradition, and Draco was no exception.

And now his father wanted him to give that up, in a ritual designed to bind him to the Dark Lord and allow Voldemort to harness that magical energy and use it to his advantage.

Every time Draco thought about it, his stomach flipped over.

He’d dissected the situation from every angle, but saw no escape. Stretching out across the bed, Draco pulled the duvet tightly around him and tried to forget long enough to fall asleep.

 

_Sunday, 25 January 1998_

Draco paced along the shores of the Black Lake. He’d asked Theo to meet him here, but the other boy was late. Draco shoved his hands deeper into his cloak and tried to ignore the shouts of merriment from the group of fifth-years playing in the snow nearby.

Theo arrived a moment later, strolling casually down from the castle.

“Where have you been?”

“Slughorn wanted a word. What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

“I don’t like to be kept waiting,” Draco snapped.

Theo wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist. “Shhh… Let me make it up to you,” he murmured, trailing a line of kisses along Draco’s jaw. “I’m sorry.”

Draco melted into Theo’s embrace. “I’m sorry, too. I’m on edge; something my father told me just before I returned to Hogwarts.”

Theo pulled back to meet Draco’s eyes, frowning. “What is it?”

“I don’t particularly want to talk about it,” Draco murmured. “Not yet, at least.”

“All right,” Theo agreed, bringing his lips to Draco’s ear. “In that case, let’s not talk at all.”

Draco shivered, showing his agreement by nuzzling Theo’s neck.

 

_Thursday, 5 February 1998_

Draco found Theo in the library. Taking his hand, he dragged the other boy deep into the stacks.

“I have to talk to you.”

Theo leaned back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. “I gathered as much,” he said with a smirk. “What is it?” As he saw Draco’s agitated expression, he sobered. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Draco looked around them, casting a _Muffliato_ to ensure their privacy and sending a silent thanks to his Head of House, who had taught each incoming class of Slytherins his personal privacy charm. “I want you to fuck me.”

“ _What_?” Theo looked startled. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m completely serious.”

“But we can’t. You _know_ that.”

“We’re not _supposed_ to,” Draco countered. “But we still _could_. No one would need to know.”

“Draco–”

“Theo, listen to me. I don’t want to wait anymore. I _want_ you. Tonight.”

“ _Tonight_?” Theo squeaked. “Draco, have you lost your mind?”

Draco ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t want to?”

“You know that’s not it.” Theo fingered his robes nervously. “But you know that we’re supposed to wait for our marriage bonds.”

Draco stepped closer and laid his hands on Theo’s chest. “That’s not possible anymore. Not for me.”

“What do you mean? You’re not making any sense.”

“It’s my father.”

“Your father?”

“He’s agreed to let me be used in a Death Eater ritual,” Draco whispered miserably.

“What?”

“Just before I came back to Hogwarts after the winter hols, my father told me he expected me to abide by my duty and remain pure. What he didn’t know is that I had overheard him talking with the Dark Lord moments before, arranging the ritual.”

As Draco had spoken, Theo had gotten progressively paler. Now, he said, “ _Merlin_ , Draco…”

“I’m a loyal son. I’ve tried to live up to the Malfoy name. But Theo, I can’t do this. I can’t.”

Theo wrapped his arms around Draco, holding him close. “Shhh… shhhh…”

“ _Please_ , Theo. I will go through the ritual, even if they mean to kill me. But I want to give this one thing to you, first.”

Draco felt Theo sigh against him. “All right. Yes. But not tonight. Next weekend – Valentine’s Day. Yeah?”

Draco nodded. “Valentine’s Day.”

 

_Saturday, 14 February 1998_

Draco took extra care with his appearance that morning. Years of practice meant that he had no trouble schooling his features to calm impassivity, despite the herd of Hippogriffs stampeding around his stomach. As the afternoon wore on, Draco set aside his books and set off for the unused classroom on the fifth floor that he and Theo had set for their tryst.

He knocked twice on the classroom door, which swung open to reveal Theo, spreading out a blanket in front of a wide window. The setting sun set the leaded panes afire, and tinged the air around them gold as the light filtered in. There was a small picnic hamper laid beside the blanket, with a bottle of wine peeking out from one corner.

Theo looked up, straightening as he spotted Draco and giving a sheepish shrug. “It’s not moonbeams and candlelight,” he began defensively, then broke off and gave a small sigh. “I always thought it’d be my Bonding Night, for this.”

“I know.” Draco’s voice was soft. “So did I.”

“I thought a spot of dinner…”

“It’s perfect.” Draco stepped into the circle of Theo’s arms as he spoke, nuzzling the other man’s neck. “Thank you.”

Theo nodded, his cheek laid against Draco’s hair. “You’re welcome.”

“I brought you something, as well,” Draco murmured, pulling back slightly to smile at Theo. Drawing his wand, Draco pulled a small object from an inner pocket of his robes and cast an enlarging charm over it. The tiny marble grew and blossomed before their eyes, becoming a white rose. Theo’s breath caught.

“Beautiful…”

“White roses symbolise purity and innocence. Placed in a bonding chamber, they will turn red when the union is consummated,” Draco’s voice was soft as he intoned the beginning of the bonding ritual.

Theo laid his fingers over Draco’s lips to quiet him, then kissed him softly. “Let’s just sit for a minute, yeah? Have something to eat?” He led Draco over to the blanket and they settled themselves beside each other. Theo opened the bottle of wine and poured them each a glass. They toasted, and each took a small sip.

They sat, awkward and shy, the spectre of the evening’s objective looming large over them. Neither seemed willing to break the silence between them, until Draco gathered up enough courage to set his and Theo’s glasses aside and moved to straddle Theo’s lap. Draco ran his fingers through his dark hair, snogging him deeply. Even through all their layers of clothing, Draco could feel Theo’s body responding to him, and he smiled into the kiss.

“Draco…” Theo whispered, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist and pulling him closer. He unfastened Draco’s robes and pushed them off his shoulders.

Draco groaned when he felt Theo fumbling with the waistband of his trousers. Theo pushed his shirt and jumper up his torso, splaying his fingers over Draco’s stomach. The fingers slid upwards, brushing across Draco’s nipples, and eliciting a shiver from the blond. In response, Draco tugged at Theo’s robes, pulling them open and running his hands over Theo’s chest.

They broke apart breathlessly and rested their foreheads together. Theo took advantage of the breathing room to open Draco’s trousers, palming his erection and stroking lightly through the fabric of his pants.

Draco tried to push Theo down onto the blanket, but the other boy resisted, instead reaching for his wineglass. “We don’t have to rush,” he murmured. “Have another sip.”

Draco plucked the wineglass from Theo’s hand, taking a long sip and bringing it up to Theo’s lips to offer him a sip as well.

Theo’s lips wrapped around the rim of the glass as he drank, locking eyes with Draco. Theo smiled as he brought the glass back to Draco’s mouth again.

Draco took another long sip. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he blinked rapidly as Theo set the glass aside. “Is that elf-made wine? It seems very strong.”

“I don’t think so,” Theo said carelessly. “Don’t you like it?”

“I’m not sure,” Draco said slowly, working his jaw as it felt like his tongue was thickening.

“Are you all right?” Theo asked, concern furrowing his brow.

“Do we have any water?” Draco managed to ask. “I’m having trouble swallowing.”

Theo shook his head. “Here. Have just a small sip. Maybe it will help.” He held the wineglass up to Draco’s lips.

Draco tried to shake his head, but Theo was insistent, and he opened his lips for a small sip. As he did, he felt another wave of dizziness wash over him. “I think there’s something –” Draco broke off as the world greyed along the edges of his vision. He slumped forward, leaning heavily on Theo and resting his forehead against Theo’s shoulder. “– wrong with the wine…”

Draco’s world went black.

 

_Sunday, 15 February 1998_

It was dark and cold, and the floor was rough beneath Draco’s cheek. He put his palms flat on the damp stones and pushed himself onto his hands and knees, looking around blearily. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he stood unsteadily, running his hands along the walls of the strange prison he found himself in. His breath caught in his throat when he reached for his wand, and he fought down a rising panic as he realised it was missing.

 _Get a grip, Draco,_ he thought impatiently to himself. _Stay calm. Figure it out._

Draco concentrated on recalling every wandless spell he’d been taught, finally remembering a modified _Lumos_ charm that gave some weak fairy light to his surroundings. Even in the dim light, he could make out enough of the architecture to recognize the dungeons of Malfoy Manor.

 _I’m_ home _?_ Draco thought incredulously. _In the dungeons? Without my wand?_

The fog began to clear from Draco’s mind and the events of the night before began rushing back.

 _“Theo,”_ Draco breathed.

As if conjured by the thought, Draco heard Theo’s voice coming from the shadows.

“You’re awake.”

Draco spun towards the sound. “Theo?” His small fairy light flickered out as he lost concentration.

There was a murmured _Lumos Maxima_ , and light flared in the small space. Theo stepped forward, on the other side of the heavy iron-barred door, his wand drawn. “I’m sorry, Draco. I had no choice.”

Draco went still, a chill settling over him like ice. “Theo?”

“The Dark Lord commands it.”

“The ritual.”

“He’s appointed me to perform the ritual, so that he can harness both our energies. It won’t be so bad.”

“You bastard! How could you do this to me?”

“The Dark Lord commands it, Draco.” Theo repeated.

Draco stared at him, jaw clenched, hands balled into fists at his side. “I thought you cared about me.”

“I do,” Theo murmured. “But I can’t go against the Dark Lord’s wishes, Draco. You, of all people, should understand that.” He shrugged. “Your father’s disgrace is my opportunity.”

Draco staggered back a couple of steps, his back hitting the stone wall. “I’ll kill you,” he whispered.

Theo gave a small shrug. “I doubt you’ll be given the opportunity. But I don’t blame you for wanting to try.”

Draco concentrated, sending a wandless Stinging Hex hurtling towards Theo. The other boy deflected it easily.

“I _am_ sorry, Draco. I didn’t want it to happen this way.”

“Get out,” Draco choked out, sliding down the wall and drawing his knees up to his chest. “Just get out.”

And Draco was left alone in the darkness once more.

 

_Sunday, 8 March 1998_

There were no windows in Draco’s cell, but there was one far down the stone corridor; a tiny block of light high up on the wall. At first, he had tried to count the days by watching that block of light as it faded from grey to black and back again, but eventually, he’d lost interest in marking the passage of time. Theo had not returned, and he had yet to see his father. His mother had come to see him twice, fearful and weeping, begging him to be quiescent and do what was required in order to survive. He ignored her the same way he’d ignored the screams that occasionally echoed through the stone chambers of the dungeons. A terrified house-elf brought his meals, though he ignored it, as well.

His wand was gone, of course, and he’d scoured the tiny cell for anything that could be used as a weapon. There was a thick, flat stone slab that protruded from the wall and formed a ledge, with a hard, thin pallet laid over top of it, and a sink and toilet in the corner.

In a moment of blind despair, he’d tried to rip the pallet apart to make enough of a ligature to strangle himself. The pallet had some sort of protective charm, however, and had been completely resistant to his efforts. It was right afterward that his mother had appeared the second time, and Draco realised that there was some sort of Monitoring Charm on the cell, and took to simply sleeping as much as possible, rousing only to eat or use the toilet, and falling back into restless slumber, populated by disjointed flashes and nightmares.

 

_Friday, 20 March 1998_

Draco was jolted awake by his mother’s frantic shaking.

“Draco! Draco, darling, wake up!” she whispered. She pulled him into a sitting position, casting several Cleansing Charms over him and thrusting clean clothes into his hands. “Get dressed, and come! Quickly!”

Draco’s heart froze in his chest, and he dressed himself slowly, lost In stupor. He followed his mother woodenly up the staircases and into his suite of rooms, where two house-elves were waiting. They bathed him, scrubbing the grime from his skin and the knots from his hair, while his mother whispered about duty and honour. She helped him dress in the traditional fashion, ceremonial robes over nothing else, and left his feet bare.

“You look regal.” His mother’s voice sounded very far away. “Elegant. Remember your duty. Do this, and your father may regain his status in the eyes of the Dark Lord. The Malfoy name – _your_ name, Draco darling – will once again be spoken with respect.”

Draco nodded dumbly. He kept his silence, though a voice in side his head was screaming.

 _I am your_ son _! How can you even ask this of me? How can you bloody expect it? Mother, please! Stop this madness! Think of what you’re asking!_

He couldn’t force the words past the lump in his throat, however. In the end, he simply bowed his head and followed her from the room.

The grass was cool and wet beneath his feet as he walked behind his mother in the pre-dawn light. He wondered idly what prisoners in Azkaban thought about as they were walked into the chamber with the Dementors, just before the Kiss was administered.

 _I’ve never seen Mount Olympus,_ he thought wildly to himself. _I’ve always wanted to. When this is all over, I’m going to go.”_

The grass beneath his feet gave way to smooth paving stones, marking the path into the stone circle, deep in the woods behind the main house. His steps slowed and he stuttered to a halt.

“I can’t.” His voice was an inaudible whisper. “Mum, I can’t.”

His mother was at his side in a heartbeat, her fingers bands of steel around his wrist. “You _must_ , darling. It’s the only way. The Dark Lord will kill you, if you don’t. He’ll kill all three of us.” She hugged him tightly to her. “You’ll get through this. We all will. You just need to be strong. Be strong for me, my darling.”

Draco made an inarticulate sound at the back of his throat, nodding slowly. He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and continued down the path.

All too soon, they passed the tall standing stone that marked the southerly approach to the circle. Draco could see the small gathering of black-robed Death Eaters, hooded and masked, with Voldemort in the centre of them. He swallowed hard, forcing his feet to continue moving, one in front of the other, until he and his mother had passed into the stone circle and Draco felt its protective magic envelop him.

“My Lord, I offer you my son, Draco. May his purity be a boon to your endeavours,” Narcissa intoned.

“My Lord.” Theo’s father’s voice, coming from somewhere behind Draco, sounded preternaturally loud in the stillness. “I offer you my son, Theo. May his purity be a boon to your endeavours.”

“My friends, I thank you for your tribute. With your help, our goals shall indeed be within our grasp.”

Draco could hear the Dark Lord’s sibilant voice as he spoke the charms and enchantments that began the ritual, but he couldn’t understand the words. As the sun peeked over the horizon, its first rays striking the treetops around the edge of the clearing, Draco knew that he should be participating in the ritual, could hear Theo reciting the words and marking the circle, but he couldn’t quite struggle through the haze surrounding him. He felt like he was floating, and he thought again of Mount Olympus, of the ancient wizards and witches who had fashioned themselves as gods.

 _I_ will _get through this,_ he thought. _I will._

As if in a dream, he watched Voldemort offer a goblet to Theo, who drank deeply from it, handing it back to the Dark Lord with a flourish. Voldemort refilled it, handing it back to Theo. Then Theo turned, and he walked towards Draco.

The goblet was thrust into his hands. Draco brought the rim to his lips and felt the cool liquid run down his chin, unable to swallow. The goblet was pressed to his lips again, and he managed to drink. He swallowed hard, fighting the urge to retch, and let the potion’s effects wash over him.

 _A lust potion,_ Draco thought. _Of course._

Too soon, he felt Theo’s hands close around his wrist.

“It’s time.”

Though a whisper, Draco could hear the quaver in Theo’s voice and wondered if it was regret, or simply the potion taking hold. Draco allowed Theo to pull him towards the altar and gently push him down onto the low, wide stone. Theo knelt over him, his eyes wide and dark, erection pressing into his thigh as Theo fumbled with the fastenings of his robes.

Finally, Theo groaned in frustration and rent the fabric of Draco’s robes. The cool dawn air raised gooseflesh on his skin, and Draco shivered. His cock was beginning to take interest in the proceedings, thanks to the potion, but its effects hadn’t yet reached his thoughts. Draco laid his head back against the cold stone of the altar and let the potion continue to wash over him.

 _I still have to see Mount Olympus,_ he reminded himself.

He could feel his body responding to the potion, responding to Theo’s touches, but his mind remained detached. A little hazy, perhaps, but he supposed that was to be expected under the circumstances.

He could see Theo’s lips moving, heard a murmuring voice above him, and realised that Theo was reciting the words of the ritual along with the Dark Lord. He turned his head to the side, watching the black-robed figures circling the altar stone, and gave a small prayer of thanks that they were circling and chanting, rather than standing and watching.

 _I’m not sure I could have borne that,_ Draco thought hazily. He hummed as Theo nipped at a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. _Ohh. That’s nice._

He felt Theo’s hand run down his chest, and he arched up into the touch. His arms were tangled in his robes, and he struggled beneath Theo until he got one arm free, wrapping it around Theo’s neck and pulling him into a kiss. His legs splayed open, allowing Theo to settle comfortably between them. He felt a warm hand on his inner thigh, pushing his legs further open.

“Yes,” Draco whispered, the potion finally reaching his brain.

“Yes,” Theo echoed. He pressed his lips to Draco’s, tongue swiping along the crease, seeking entrance.

Draco moaned and deepened the kiss, letting his legs move farther apart. He brought his hand up to run through the short hair at the back of Theo’s head.

“I’ll be gentle,” Theo promised, voice thick with arousal. He knelt up, tugging off his robes, and leaned back down over Draco’s body. Strong, square fingers circled Draco’s entrance, slick with an unknown substance, and suddenly one finger was pressing inside. One knuckle, pumping in and out, then two, and then Draco was pressing back against them, silently pleading for more.

“That’s it,” Theo whispered, pushing a third finger inside.

Draco moaned at the stretch, arching his back off the stone. “Please,” he begged.

Theo’s fingers disappeared, and Draco whimpered as they were quickly replaced by the blunt pressure of his cock. His eyes popped open, meeting Theo’s gaze.

Theo’s pupils were blown wide with arousal as he pressed inside. Draco hissed, the pain edging along the fringes of the potion’s effects, licking at his consciousness. The head of Theo’s cock popped inside and they both gasped. Theo took a deep breath, renewing the pressure until he was fully seated. Draco’s gaze was clouded with pain, but his cock never flagged. Theo’s hand closed over Draco’s erection and he groaned, the pain disappearing back into the haze of lust and arousal the potion was sending coursing through his veins.

The chanting of the ritual came to a quiet crescendo around them as Theo fisted Draco’s cock in time with the pumping of his hips. Draco moaned and squirmed beneath him, wanting more, deeper, harder. He knew, somewhere deep in the recesses of his brain, that it was only the potion, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Draco felt a tension pooling in his stomach, curling his toes and stretching every muscle to its breaking point. Theo’s movements grew erratic, hips pistoning wildly, and then there was warm liquid pulsing into his arse. Theo’s hand motions slowed over Draco’s cock as he collapsed on top of him, breathing hard, but he kept moving rhythmically and, as Draco’s whimpers grew frantic, Theo moved faster again, twisting his hand over the head of Draco’s cock as he bit down hard at the spot where his neck met his shoulder.

Draco lost his breath as he tumbled over the edge, spilling into Theo’s hand as bright white light exploded behind his eyeballs. A second later, Draco dropped into unconsciousness.

 

_Saturday, 21 March 1998_

Draco woke in his bedroom, wrapped in his favourite duvet. For one brief, blissful moment, he revelled in the feel of warmth from the duvet and the eiderdown pillows. Then he stretched, and the pain in his body sent him crashing back to reality and recollection.

_The ritual._

_The Dark Lord._

_Theo._

With a sob, Draco pulled the duvet over his head and tried to forget.

 

_Sunday, 22 March 1998_

A knocking at the door of his bedroom woke Draco from his fitful slumber. His mother’s voice followed a moment later.

“Draco, darling? May I come in?”

Draco rolled over, burrowing deeper under the duvet.

“Draco? Are you awake?”

“No,” he groaned, but his mother was already pushing the door open. She closed the door softly behind her and moved towards the bed. Draco felt the mattress dip as she perched on the edge.

“Draco,” Narcissa said. “Why don’t you get up? You need to eat; it’s important to keep up your strength after-”

“After _what_ , Mother?” Draco flipped back the duvet to glare at her. “After being forced to have sex in the middle of a Dark Ritual? Yes, I’m sure St Mungo’s would agree that food is _precisely_ what I need.”

Narcissa pulled back as though he’d struck her. “Do you need a Healer? I can summon –“

“No.” Draco closed his eyes with a sigh. “Just leave it, Mother.”

“Draco, please…”

“Please? Please _what_ , Mother? Please don’t talk about it? Merlin forbid that anyone _talks_ about anything in this family. Please get up? Please bugger off? Well, it’s a bit late for that one-”

“Please forgive me,” Narcissa whispered.

Draco’s eyes snapped to his mother’s. Guilt and remorse flooded through him as he watched the unshed tears sparkle in the corners of her eyes.

“I’m sorry, darling. I’m so sorry, but it was the only way to keep you alive. I wanted to kill Nott and his father and the Dark Lord himself, not to mention everyone who was participating in the ritual. I might even have managed one or two before I was killed. But they would have killed you, too, darling, and _that_ I could not allow.”

Draco curled closer to her, unable to bring himself to reach out to her, but wanting her to know that, in his heart of hearts, he wouldn’t hold what had happened against her. As he held her gaze, Narcissa gave a short nod, letting him know that she understood.

After a long moment , Narcissa reached out a tentative hand and patted Draco’s shoulder awkwardly. As she stood and moved towards the door, Draco spoke.

“Was the ritual successful?”

Narcissa cleared her throat. “The Dark Lord appeared to divine the information he was seeking. He seemed very pleased.”

Draco couldn’t control the soft sound that escaped his throat, and he rolled over, pulling the duvet over his head.

Narcissa sighed quietly. “I love you, Draco.”

Draco heard the door open and close, and silence enveloped him.

 

_Wednesday, 25 March 1998_

A soft _pop_ sounded in the room, but Draco did not even deign to open his eyes.

“What do you want?” he asked, lying supine on his bed with his arm flung over his face.

“The Master is wanting Master Draco in his study,” squeaked a house-elf.

“I don’t care what the Master is wanting,” Draco said tiredly. “Go away.”

“The Master is telling Bitsy to bring Master Draco,” Bitsy said stubbornly. “The Master is not taking no for an answer.”

Draco briefly considered sending Bitsy back with rather not the answer that his father was expecting. After a moment, though, he sighed and rolled out of bed.

“Very well,” he said haughtily. “You may tell my father that I will join him shortly.”

Bitsy nodded, eyes wide and frightened, and she popped out of existence.

Draco dressed carefully, ensuring that he was presentable, hen strolled towards his father’s study, determined to underscore the idea that he was absolutely _not_ hurrying to answer such a summons.

His father’s smooth voice answered as he knocked on the door, and Draco pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped inside.

“Ah, Draco, my boy. Come in.”

Draco shut the door behind him, inclining his head in response.

“Father.”

Lucius quirked an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. After a moment, Draco began to fidget, folding his arms across his chest defensively.

“You sent for me. What do you want?”

“Are you well?”

“I- what?”

“You’ve been in bed for days. Are you ill?” Draco stared at his father, completely flummoxed, as the older man continued, “No? Then I have had enough of this behaviour, Draco. Spending your days in bed like a wastrel is unacceptable.”

“You can’t be serious,” Draco sputtered. “After what happened-“

“What happened is precisely _why_ you cannot spend your time _hiding_ , boy,” Lucius hissed. “It’s a sign of weakness. You must make them believe that you are even stronger now than you were before.”

“Father-“

“Enough! Must I spell everything out for you?” The mulish expression on Draco’s face must have spoken for itself, because Lucius huffed and continued in the same clipped tones. “The Dark Lord seems to have taken some steps towards his goals. All is not yet forgiven, but may be soon. In the meantime, if they think you weak, they will prey on you. Stay strong; we will be the better for it when the Dark Lord bestows his favours upon us.”

“Mother told me the ritual appeared successful.”

“The Dark Lord said the ritual confirmed information Ollivander had given him. He did not deign to share any more of his plan with me.”

“I see.” Draco lifted his chin, meeting his father’s gaze with a stubborn stare. “Was it worth it, Father? Knowing that even the high price I paid was not enough to restore your place among his followers?”

“Enough,” Lucius repeated. “You performed the role required of you. It is what is expected of a Malfoy.”

Draco processed that in silence for a long moment, his near-uncontrollable urge to scream manifesting only in a clenching muscle in his jaw as he held on to his tenuous control.

 _I am your only son! How could you barter with my life for a madman’s favour?_ he wanted to rage. Aloud, he said, “Is that all?”

Lucius gave him an appraising nod.

“Then I bid you good day, Father,” Draco bit out, turning on his heel and stalking from the room.

 

 

_Thursday, 26 March 1998_

Draco was pacing his rooms, trying to process everything that had happened, when a knock sounded at the door. He let his momentum carry him over to the door and flung it open. “Yes?”

Theo stood in the doorway, and Draco took an involuntary step backward.

“What do you want?”

Theo stared at the floor. “I wanted to talk.”

“I’m quite sure there’s nothing left to say.”

“Draco, please.” Theo bit his lower lip. “Hear me out.”

Draco leaned on the door, arms folded. “What?”

Theo looked around them in surprise. “Here? In the hall?”

“You surely didn’t expect that I would let you into my bedroom?” The way Theo shuffled his feet said clearly that he _had_ expected that, and Draco rolled his eyes. “Say what you came to say, or leave. You’re not setting foot in my private suite.”

Theo looked around them again, finally giving a sigh and casting a _Muffliato_ just to ensure that they wouldn’t be overheard. “I came to apologise.”

Draco snorted. “Apologise,” he repeated incredulously.

“Yes. Draco, please. I didn’t have much of a choice. My father insisted I go through with it. I couldn’t disobey the Dark Lord.”

“Of course you couldn’t.”

“I – I _am_ sorry, Draco. You know I never wanted to hurt you.”

“No, I don’t know that,” Draco snapped. “What I know is that when I went to you for help and comfort, I wound up drugged, imprisoned in my own dungeons, and then practically raped on an altar for the Dark Lord’s amusement.”

Theo stared at the ground. “It didn’t have to be that way, Draco. If you’d just gone along with it, it could have been alright. It could have been good, even. I would have made it good for you.”

“You don’t get it. There is no way that this could have been _good for me_. Or for you.”

“You’re wrong. I’ve earned the Dark Lord’s respect, now. My father stands high in his regard.”

“Was that worth the price you paid, Theo? The price _we_ paid?”

“It will be if it helps the Dark Lord to accomplish his mission. He’s searching for something, Draco. A powerful magical object. When he finds it, he’ll be unstoppable. Potter won’t stand a chance. This will all be over.”

Draco shook his head. “Good night, Theo,” he said, moving to close the door and retreat back into his rooms.

Theo’s hand shot out, preventing Draco from closing the door. “Draco, please.”

Their eyes met, and Draco found himself studying the other boy for signs that he was truly sorry, that he had only done what was necessary to keep those he loved alive, but instead, he found that same shadow of darkness he had seen in Theo whilst imprisoned in the dungeons.

“It’s fine, Theo,” he found himself saying the expected words, playing his part.

Theo brightened immediately. “Yeah? You understand that if this ritual helps the Dark Lord, we’ll be rewarded. He’ll remember our sacrifice.”

Draco nodded. “I understand. It’s late, though, and I need sleep. We can talk again tomorrow.”

Theo smiled, nodding in return. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight.”

Draco shut the door and cast every Locking spell he could think of for good measure, leaning heavily against the door. He looked around his sitting room as though it held the answers he so desperately needed. Theo’s words whirled around his thoughts like dervishes.

_…he’ll be unstoppable…_

_…if you’d just gone along…_

_…the Dark Lord…_

_…unstoppable…_

_…remember our sacrifice…_

Suddenly, one thought emerged from the maelstrom, crystal clear in its intensity.

_If the Dark Lord wins, this is what your life will be. Until you die._

Draco flicked his wand to douse the lights, plunging his rooms into darkness, taking refuge from the stark horror that had accompanied his epiphany.

 

_Sunday, 29 March 1998_

Draco had spent the last few days very carefully _acting like a Malfoy_ , as his father had called it. He appeared downstairs for breakfast at the expected time, impeccably groomed and unfailingly cool and polite to anyone he encountered. After breakfast, he walked in the gardens. Yesterday, Theo had even joined him for a short turn around his mother’s prized rose garden. After lunch, he would retire to the library and read until dinner, after which he would return to the library or to the drawing room, sipping brandy with his father and his cronies until the time when he could plead schoolwork and escape to his room and the privacy it afforded.

Now, he sat in an armchair by the fire, watching the crystals in the chandelier sparkling with reflected firelight. It was only the three of them in the drawing room that evening – his parents and himself – and it was almost easy to pretend that everything was as it should be. _Almost._

The wards sounded, and his mother rose to see who was at the gates. Draco tensed, though he tried not to show it. Every time the wards sounded, he imagined it was the Dark Lord returning, seeking to exact further payment from him for his family’s honour, for their very lives. He suppressed a shudder and took a sip of his drink.

Suddenly, a commotion sounded at the other end of the room and his mother swept in, followed by a ragtag group headed by Fenrir Greyback. His father rose imperiously from his chair.

“What is this?”

“They say they’ve got Potter.” His mother’s voice was like ice. “Draco, come here.”

 _If they’ve captured Potter, it’s all over,_ he thought desperately. _The Dark Lord will be victorious._

Draco fought down a wave of panic as he rose from his chair. He caught a glimpse of himself, pale as alabaster, in the mirror above the fireplace as he turned and strode to where the group was standing. His thoughts raced around his brain.

_Please, Merlin, don’t let it be Potter._

“Well, boy?” Greyback asked, shoving his prisoners into the circle of light directly below the chandelier.

_If it’s Potter, the Dark Lord has won. Merlin, don’t let it be Potter._

The prisoners kept their faces down, avoiding eye contact. The face of the dark-haired one was swollen and stretched.

 _Three of them. Oh, Merlin’s beard, it’s them._ Draco’s mind whirled. _Tell them who these three are, and the Dark Lord will win. He’ll reward you lavishly. You’ll be among his inner circle._

“Well, Draco?” his father asked. “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?”

_You’ll be in his inner circle until it pleases him to throw you out. Or kill you._

“I can’t – I can’t be sure,” he equivocated, trying to keep an eye on everyone in the room.

“But look at him carefully, look! Come closer! Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv—“

Draco snapped his head up to gaze disbelievingly at Lucius, even as Greyback snarled, “Now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr Malfoy?”

 _This will never end. If the Dark Lord wins, this will never end._ The thought kept repeating itself inside his head as his father argued with the werewolf.

His father grabbed at his shoulder, jolting his attention. “Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?”

Draco found himself face to face with Potter.

_If the Dark Lord wins, this is what your life will be. Until you die._

His thoughts were still whirling madly as he tried to decide what to do, but as their gazes locked, Draco saw something in Potter’s eyes that resonated within him, sparking something deep inside.

He took a deep breath, and made his choice.

“I don’t know.”

As he retreated to stand beside his mother on the other side of the room, Draco prayed that his choice had been the right one.


End file.
